


to burn like tinder  - Rhys POV

by kremlin



Series: to burn like tinder series [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Relationship Issues, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:58:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kremlin/pseuds/kremlin
Summary: Whenever autumn came around, Rhys felt this urge, this particular need to find them, this special person just for him. It wasn’t that he was desperate or lonely, he had his family and friends, and work kept him well occupied, but when the days grew shorter and the light weaker, he craved for that special someone he could spent the long, dark winter nights with huddled together in bed - preferably naked. Someone who would not only warm his body, but also his soul. He craved holding someone to his chest, their head within kissable reach, so he could pepper and press kisses onto it whenever he felt like. He craved talking about nothing and everything with his special someone and just be.Read to burn like tinder from Rhys POV





	1. Chapter 1

Whenever autumn came around, Rhys felt this urge, this particular need to find them, this special person just for him. It wasn’t that he was desperate or lonely, he had his family and friends, and work kept him well occupied, but when the days grew shorter and the light weaker, he craved for that special someone he could spent the long, dark winter nights with huddled together in bed - preferably naked. Someone who would not only warm his body, but also his soul. He craved holding someone to his chest, their head within kissable reach, so he could pepper and press kisses onto it whenever he felt like. He craved talking about nothing and everything with his special someone and just be.

After breaking up with his last girlfriend, whom he also met during the onset of autumn last year, but quickly broke up with after 3 months, he hadn't been looking for another girlfriend for some time. And yet, as the days grew longer around the end of October, Rhys felt himself wishing for that special somebody. It came over him when he was lounging on his couch on a Sunday evening after a stressful week when he was doing nothing in particular. Right there, sitting on his couch, he had the sudden, desperate wish of having somebody, that someone was lying with him on this very couch, doing nothing in particular, but just _being_ with him.

It wasn’t that he had problems picking up girls. Rhys was handsome and he knew it, and exactly there lay the root of his problem. Most girls were interested in his face, not his personality. Only last week, when he had been out with his cousin and brother’s at Mor’s favorite club, he had been swarmed with attention from several people - both men and women. But he didn’t want a one-night stand or a casual encounter in a club. He wanted a partner. Someone he could spend his life with. Someone that was smart and could hold a conversation, but at the same time join in on his jokes and be ridiculous with him.

Rhys sighed and got up, before the gloom could swallow him whole. He had to do something, but what? Just then, his phone chimed.

_Mor: Hey, what’s up. Care for a movie?_

Rhys sighed again and stared at the message. He really loved his cousin, but she wasn’t what he had in mind, when he thought about wanting someone on the couch with him. He also was not in the mood to respond to her, so he closed the messenger without replying. It was then that his eyes got snagged at the Tinder Icon. Right. He could try that again. Although the last dates two hadn’t been exactly successful. _Well, third time’s the charm_ , he thought opening the app.

Flopping back onto the couch, he flicked through the pictures, avoiding all profiles with too much naked skin, or girls with obviously bleached hair or heavy make-up. It wasn’t that he didn’t like make-up in general, he could appreciate a full face of heavy make-up if it was well done and fit the occasion, but for everyday life, he preferred his girlfriends to be natural. He was a kisser, he liked to show his affection my smooching and kissing, and he didn’t appreciate licking wax, pigment and chemicals off his beloved skin all the time. He didn’t really have a certain type regarding hair color or body type, but he had preferences. Curls, for example. He didn’t know why, but he liked curly hair. Everything from soft waves to corkscrew curls, he was fascinated how they twisted and fell. It made him want to tangle his fingers in them. Eyes, too. It didn’t matter the color or shape, as long as they were interesting and caught his attention. And, of course, the profile description. He avoided those who used quotes. He wasn’t interested in people who had nothing to say for themselves. Those were the things he was looking for, while he flicked through the pictures, swiping left and right.

His thumb paused on one peculiar picture. Light brown hair cascaded down in soft waves, spilling over a shoulder and framing a face that was only half visible, most of it cut from picture. It seemed like she had done it deliberately, so it would be harder to identify her, or the picture had meant to be taken that way, with the focus on her hair. Maybe to show of a hairstyle? The one eye he saw was shadowed by long lashes, so he couldn’t make out their color, but what he could make out was the tiniest smattering of freckles, just around her nose. As if she hadn’t shouted loud enough when they had been distributed. It looked adorable. As was her name. Fairy. Surely an alias, but still. It fit, somehow.

Pulling up the profile, he saw that she had only that one profile picture. He laughed. She was interesting. But it was her description that hit home for him.

_Likes reading, being lazy, lounging, and eating good food._

Didn’t that just sound perfect!

He swiped right immediately and a shock of delight went through him, when he was immediately notified that they had matched.

Rhys sat up, suddenly anxious. What to write? He could go for the standard _hey_ , or _hi_ , but he was sick and tired of conversations like that, and surely, she was too. So instead, he started typing something else, excitement seizing him firmly in its grip. She could be the one. The one he had been looking for.

_There you are! I have been looking for you._

☽✴☾

He was nervous. Really nervous. Nerve wrecking nervous.

When after a few days Fairy still hadn’t replied, Rhys had thought he had blown his chances with his cocky message. But then she had replied a week later with an equally cocky line. He had choked on his drink and lept from the couch, gaping at the message.

_Sorry to keep you waiting! Didn't see you in the crowd._

She was a feisty one, that little Fairy. Rhys heart had beaten hard with excitement, when he had written his response and soon they were teasing each other back and forth. Her responses were sharp and witty and he had loved it, but he needed to test out, if she was also intelligent. No matter how pretty or funny she was, if she wasn’t up to par with him, it was not worth it. His last girlfriend had been pretty and funny, too, but she had been a bit simple. He wanted a partner, and equal, not someone he dragged along. She presented the opportunity to test her herself.

_Well, all my kitchen has to offer right now is half a pomegranate._

A pomegranate! The fruit of sin. Perfect!

_Ah, a fellow sinner! So I take you're a pursuer of knowledge and truth?_

She had taken long to reply. Too long. Disappointment had threatened to drag Rhys down from his high. _She didn’t get the reference_ , he had thought. And then came her reply.

_I might be. Or I might be the snake and try to enlighten man._

That was it! Rhys had been sure of it. He had invited her for coffee, wanting to meet in person. That had been on Sunday.

Now it was Wednesday and Rhys was sitting just outside of Rita’s, the café where they would meet. He kept staring at his phone and counted the seconds until she came. It was 3:07pm and she had just written him she would be late, which didn’t do anything to calm his nerves. To know she was really coming had made it even worse. It gave their meeting some sense of finality. Before, there might have been the possibility that she just didn’t come, or something happened and she wouldn’t make it. Now he knew it would definitely happen, and that somehow frightened him. He checked his phone again. 3:08pm.

“Uhm, hi. Rhysand, right?” said a voice.

He glanced up and froze like a deer in headlights. _A fairy_. That’s who stood in front of him. Realizing he was staring and probably gaping like an idiot, he quickly got up and straightened, but couldn’t tear his gaze away.

She was beautiful, she most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her long light-brown hair was braided in a loose braid that fell over her shoulder, glinting in hues of red and gold where the sun hit it. She was the perfect size to hug to his chest and tuck in underneath his chin, if he wanted. She got a sweet, oval shaped face, with full, soft lips and the tiniest number of freckles, really only limited to around her nose. They stood out against her fair skin. But what really did it for him were her eyes. They were blue-grey, like steel or the clouds before a thunderstorm, and she looked him straight in the eyes without wavering or averting her own, like so many people did. Instead, she held his gaze and her piercing stare made him feel like she had put an arrow straight through his heart. He felt himself blush. _Blush!_ He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. And then her full lips split into a smile and her whole face lit up and became even more beautiful, a spark of warmth entering those cold eyes. Rhys smiled in response, a broad, unrestrained smile he seldom let slip. But it was worth it, when she flushed pink in response, a blush spreading over her whole face. It set off her eyes even more. She was exquisite.

“Yes,” he purred, slipping into his usual confident persona to gloss over his nervous state. “I’m Rhysand. But please call me Rhys. That’s what my friends call me. And I take you're Fairy,” he said.

She nodded and offered her hand for a handshake. He took her hand without hesitation, although he thought it funny. _Who did handshakes anymore_? But, well, he was glad for the excuse to touch her, even if it was just her hand.

“It’s Feyre actually,” she supplied, pronouncing it Fey-RUH.

So he had been right about her using an alias. She was guarded. Extremely so. Her whole body language spoke of it, the way she stood, ready to take off at any given moment, and how she immediately withdrew her hands from him, after they had shook. He knew enough people with traumas to recognize one when they stood in front of him.

“1 minute into this date and you're already trusting me with your real name, darling? I feel this is going exceptionally well!” His smile turned into a smirk and to his delight, Feyre rolled her eyes.

“Wow, attitude really doesn't show in writing,” she said and smirked in return. She wasn’t easily intimidated. And she had a sharp tongue. Rhys was hooked. _We are going to have so much fun, darling,_ he thought. But instead of saying that, he motioned towards the café.

“Shall we?”

☽✴☾

If she wasn’t a fairy, she was a witch, because Rhys was truly and completely bewitched. She was… Rhys had no words to describe her. Smart, educated, funny, beautiful - those didn’t do her justice. He was completely taken with her, infatuated even. He would almost dare to say he was falling in love with her, only falling didn’t do the speed justice he was experiencing these feelings at. He was more like plummeting to the ground in free fall, waiting for the impact.

Her mind was brilliant and sharp, the same as her tongue. But they did not only threw barbs at each other, they actually had one of the most interesting conversations he had with anyone in a long time. It was just so easy to talk to her. They had so much in common. And all the while during their talk, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. The way the light caught in her hair, the little smiles that escaped her, which gave him butterflies in his stomach, the faint color that sometimes crept into her cheeks and how she averted her eyes when it did, suddenly feeling shy because of something he had said. He tried, though, not to stare to openly at her generous cleavage, exposed by her low-cut shirt. It wasn’t as if he was into big boobs in general, as long as they were nicely shaped and fit into his hand, Rhys liked any size. But the way the shirt’s cut complimented the soft curve of the tops of her breasts, he couldn’t help steal one or two glances (or maybe more). It was just too enticing. But he restrained himself from touching her, or getting too close. He wanted to know her, really know her, before he attempted anything physical. He had the feeling this, they, could be more. She could be the one he had been looking for.

Unfortunately, he had timed the date, and apparently so had Feyre, because after not even one hour, they both had to go keep other appointments. She looked disappointed when she glanced at her phone, and he felt the same. If only he hadn’t had that damn seminar. But it was an important meeting with his professor and other doctoral students, and he couldn’t risk missing it. Not even for her.

“So,” he began, as they were nearing his car. “I really had a great time.”

“Yeah, me too,” she confessed.

Rhys shot her a quick glance from the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t let her get away like that, he needed to make sure they were on the same page, that she wanted to meet him again. Because he certainly did. There was no way around it, Rhys needed to ask her before they went their separate ways.

“So do you… I mean, wanna meet again?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer. _What if she said no?_ But Feyre looked up to meet his gaze and gave him a soft smile.

“I'd love that,” she said quietly.

Rhys sagged with relief and exhaled sharply, before returning her smile.

“Great. I'll text you,” he promised was about to turn towards his car, when Feyre pulled him into a sudden hug. He hadn’t expected her to do that, seeing how they had shook hands in the beginning. _Soft_ , was the first thought that shot through his mind. _She is so soft._ But before Rhys had the chance to hug her back, she had pulled away.

“See you later,” she breathed and took off without looking back, spiriting away a piece of his heart when she vanished into the throng of people that were always busying themselves on campus.

Rhys leaned against his car, blushing again. Just why did she unsettle him so? It had just been a hug. Rhys ran a hand over his face to regain his composure and let out a deep chuckle. He definitely wouldn’t let that feisty little fairy get away. Getting in the car, he typed a quick message, before he pulled out of the parking lot.

_Thank you again for the lovely date. I'm very glad I met you, Feyre._

☽✴☾

He was waiting for Feyre. Again. To be fair, it wasn't her fault, he was too early. But he just had been so excited to meet her again today, that he ended up being half an hour early to their meeting.

He had gotten up earlier than usual, anticipation ripping him out of his sweet dreams. Naturally, he had dreamed about her and about today’s date, because that was all he could think about yesterday when they set it up. He spent the morning preparing for it, packing snacks and tea into his satchel. After a minute of careful consideration, he also packed a blanket. Maybe they would take a break during their walk and sit on a bench somewhere, and then they would need a blanket, because it was really cold outside. He had a certain bench in mind, but that one was in the city, not in the woods, where they had agreed to meet. Still, maybe they would extend their walk and then he could show her his favorite view in Velaris, sitting on that particular bench, sharing snacks and a blanket, maybe a kiss?

_No_ , he decided. That wouldn't do. Feyre had been very guarded and careful around him, she probably wouldn't share a blanket with him, let alone kiss him on their second date. Especially after that psycho-killer comment she made yesterday. She clearly didn’t trust him. He still cringed when he thought about it. In all fairness, it had been a stupid idea to invite her to his place on the second date. He knew, of course, what a girl going to a guy’s place implied, but he had really just wanted to cook her a nice meal and talk in a relaxed atmosphere. Rhys had gotten ahead of himself because she had hugged him goodbye and agreed to a second date.

With a determined nod to himself, he packed a second blanket, only it wouldn’t fit into his satchel. So he took everything out to pack it again, smiling smugly when it all fit. Then he turned to his clock to check the time. The whole packing-considering-packing more-repacking-ordeal had taken him all but 15 minutes. He still had hours until their date.

The rest of the morning he had spent pacing his apartment and trying to distract himself, drinking the tea he had packed for them, because he realized, by the time they would get to drink it, it would long gone cold and he better brew one fresh, before he was leaving.

At 11am, he couldn’t stand it anymore and left his apartment to walk to their meeting place, hoping to kill time that way. Only he had arrived faster than anticipated and was not waiting like an idiot for her to show up, while he froze his ass off. In his earlier rush, he had forgotten his gloves and grabbed his leather jacket instead of his warm coat and after almost an hour outside, he was frozen stiff. Burying his hands in his pocket and shifting on his feet, he hoped, Feyre was coming soon, so he could start moving his body by walking.

He looked up towards where he assumed she was coming from, and really: there she was, walking towards him, with a coffee in her hand. Rhys put on his trademark smirk and watched her making her way over to him. She was as pretty as she had been on Wednesday, her hair again in a long braid that fell down her side and the tiniest hint make-up. Rhys smiled at her sight. He liked how she looked natural, not bothering with heavy make-up or elaborate hairstyles. She stopped in front of him and gave him a little awkward one-sided hug, careful not to spill her coffee. But this time, he was prepared and hugged her back, putting his cheek against hers. She smelled like body wash and some light floral perfume. It was divine.

“Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred next to her ear and gave her a little squeeze, savoring her warmth and trying to steal some for himself, before letting go.

“Hi,” she breathed and when they pulled away, she looked at him and gave a little smile. It was like the sun coming out behind the clouds after a long, hard winter and Rhys felt his heart fluttering at the sight.

Suddenly nervous, Rhys averted his eyes and eyed her coffee cup. “And where is my coffee?” he asked in mock hurt. Feyre rolled her eyes.

“First of all, you had espresso last time and there is no way I could have brought you one that was still hot in this weather. Second, I only got out of bed, so this is my first coffee of the day. I might be able to get away with skipping on my beauty sleep, but not with not having coffee. But, since I technically owe you from Wednesday, I might buy you one later.”

Rhys nodded graciously and tried to hide his excitement. She had remembered what coffee he had on Wednesday. And it seemed like she had liked his comment about her not needing beauty sleep from last night, if she bothered mentioning it right now. And best of all, she had just given him another opportunity to ask for another date by offering to buy him coffee. He didn’t know if she had done it deliberately, but Rhys was determined to make use of it either way.

“Ah, a woman of her word. I will take you up on that offer then, darling.”

Feyre gave him another eyeroll and a little shove and he found it adorable. Rhys chuckled.

“So, shall we go?” Feyre asked, draining the last of her coffee and discarding the cup in a nearby bin.

“We need to wait for the tram,” Rhys answered. Feyre blinked up at him in surprise.

“But the forest is just around the corner from here,” she said, motioning towards the woods in the near distance.

“Ah, yes. But if we take the tram for just two stations from here, we can enter the forest behind the sports complex and then walk back towards the city. If we enter here, we would need to turn at one point and walk the same way back.” And Rhys had planned to extend this walk for as long as possible, going even deeper into the wood from where he had planned to start. He wanted to get as much time as he could out of this date.

Feyre was quiet for a minute and he almost feared she would decline. So he hastily added, “and maybe later, if we are still up to it, we can continue into the city have that coffee?”

She still considered for a heartbeat longer and then held her hand out.

“It’s a bargain.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

She let him lead the way once they got off the tram and started towards the wood, conversation flowing easy between them. Feyre had her face tilted upward and looked at the trees above them, enjoying the fall colors.

“So tell me, Rhysand, why a double major in economics and history? The combination is somewhat unusual.”

Rhys glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and admired her profile, while her eyes remained glued on the foliage.

“Rhysand, really? What have I done to you?” he asked in mock hurt. Well, he _was_ kind of disappointed she refused calling him Rhys. Feyre turned to look at him and simply raised an eyebrow. He chuckled.

“I find that one can learn a great deal about economics, when looking at history. All mistakes that we possibly can make, have been made already. Yet, we refuse to acknowledge and learn from them. By looking at the past, by looking at how people in power acted in certain circumstances, especially when presented with times of economic pressure, you start seeing patterns. Which decisions were bad ones, which strategies were successful. Though we usually tend to glorify the past, so it makes it harder to guess at the underlying motives of people’s actions.”

She was quiet for a moment before she spoke again

“You mean like, for example, when in the middle ages the expulsion of jews by Spain’s catholic kings was most likely motivated by financial reasons rather than religious ones? Because after the ongoing wars and the reconquest of the Iberian peninsula, they needed a new source of income, but most people assume the motivation was based on their ardent catholic faith?”

Pleasant surprise jolted through him like electricity and he whipped his head around her. She met his gaze with a mildly curious expression.

“Exactly! How come you know of that?” he breathed. She had grasped exactly what he meant. Feyre averted her gaze, but answered.

“A friend of mine is a linguist, apparently there is a variety of Spanish that is still in used by the descendents of those jews, who have been expelled during the middle ages. She told me they were only allowed to take what they could carry and weren’t granted enough time to wind up their affairs. What they left was seized by the crown. Doesn’t take a genius to guess, that’s what they had been after in the first place.”

Rhysand couldn’t stop staring at her. He knew she was intelligent and educated, but he kept underestimating her. To finally talk with a girl that understood what he was talking about was overwhelming and exhilarating at the same time. Feyre seemed to be uncomfortable with him staring at her.

“My memory works really well, so when I find something interesting, it just latches on…” she rambled on nervously.

“I knew you were smart, but I didn’t realize just how smart you were.” Rhys shook his head as if to shake away his surprise and clear his head. He smiled softly at her. “You are exquisite.”

This time, Feyre turned bright red and burrowed her face deeper into her scarf. Rhys felt a weird rushing sensation run through his body. He had made her blush! Not a faint flush, or a tinge of pink, but a real, deep blush. He had to restrain himself from hugging her right there and then.

“You aren’t dumb either. That pomegranate-reference really surprised me,” she mumbled into the warm wool covering her face. Rhys wanted nothing more than to rip away that scarf and taste her lips. The thought made him blush slightly himself.

“Ah, that!” Rhys chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed at the turn his thought had taken. “That really threw me off. Why would the only thing in your kitchen be a pomegranate? I mean I get having an apple, or a banana. But a pomegranate?” He laughed. He couldn’t even remember the time he had seen a pomegranate, let alone ate one.

“I just really wanted to have pomegranate.” Feyre laughed too and the sound skittered right along his bones. It was a lovely sound. “I saw it at the supermarket and was suddenly craving it, so I grabbed it. And well, it not hard being the only thing in my kitchen.”

Rhys cocked his head to the side in a silent question.

“My kitchen is really small, well, it’s a kitchenette really. My fridge is tiny, too. There’s not much space, so I mostly keep drinks and fruit in there”, Feyre explained. “What about your place? You mentioned cooking some fancy curry the other day.”

“My fridge is rather big, thank you for asking,” Rhys said with a wink and a smirk. Feyre rolled her eyes at him in return but he could see she was fighting a smile. “I need to keep it well stocked, because my cousin comes over often and she is always rummaging my fridge for food. Cauldron save me if there is no food in the house for her to devour.” Feyre laughed her lovely laugh at that.

“So you live with your cousin?” she inquired.

“No, and thank the Mother for that. Though one might think so, as often as she barges into my place.” Rhys sighed in exasperation. Mor was probably raiding his kitchen right now, knowing he was out and had some leftover food from yesterday.

“So is your kitchen as big as your fridge?” she teased. She really was a feisty one.

“Bigger”, he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She gave him a saccharine smile in return that smelled of trouble.

“If you ever want to have your way with me, all you need to do is show me a picture of your kitchen.”

Rhys went still, completely taken by surprise. _Did she really just say that?_ He threw his head back and burst out laughing. _Cauldron_ , that woman! He thought he could read her and then she surprised him like that.

“Darling, I will show you as many pictures of my kitchen as you want," he said, still laughing. "Any other ways to win your heart?”

“I have a fable for coats”, she admitted. “Though leather is really nice, too,” she said, batting her eyelashes coyly at his leather jacket. Rhys couldn’t resist and leaned a bit closer towards her. If she wanted to play, he would.

“Next time, Feyre, I’m wearing a coat,” he purred, rolling and savoring her name on his tongue like a fine wine while gazing deeply into her stunning eyes. And he would bring a damn photo album of his kitchen, if that’s what it took to woo her.

Fezre averted her eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, her cheeks a bright red color. Although she tried, it didn’t seem that she was all that used to flirting. Not if he could easily throw her off with a comment like that. Which was good, because he found he liked it immensely to see her blush.

“So there will be a next time?”

_Yes, absolutely, definitely!_ If there was one thing he was sure about, it was that he wanted to keep seeing her, even after this date. Instead he settled for, “only if you want.”

She glanced at him, taking him in while she considered her answer. Rhys was nervous. _What if she said no?_ But her face didn’t show any signs of refusal, instead a slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“I would love to.”

_Love to._ Not want to, like to, but _love_ to. Rhys didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded and gave her a smile, humming his approval. They resumed walking, but Rhys didn’t know how to continue their talk. The moment was just too precious to destroy with meaningless banter or petty talk. Should he tell her that he liked her? Probably not, seeing how shy and guarded she reacted when he became a bit more assertive. But when was the right time? Could he dare to take her hand? They hadn’t touched so far, except for hugging hello, but he really wanted to hold hands with her.

Rhys was still pondering what to do next, when Feyre stopped dead, suddenly gasping. Rhys paused and looked at her, frowning slightly in concern.

“Feyre?”

She looked panicked all of a sudden. Rhys took a step towards her but stopped when he saw her flinching slightly when he did.

“Feyre, are you alright? What’s the matter?” He was growing really concerned now. She wouldn’t answer but stood rooted on the spot, applying breathing techniques to calm herself. Rhys eyes darted between the trees and bushes, looking for what had made her so afraid all of a sudden. _What had she seen that had her panicking so much?_ He couldn’t see anything. Behind him, she exhaled a shaky breath and he turned back towards her, still worried, although she seemed to have somewhat calmed down.

“I’m sorry. It might sound a bit paranoid, but I hadn’t realized we were so deep in the woods.” She tried to laugh her panic away, but it sounded off, hollow. She was still afraid. And then it hit Rhys like a brick to the head.

“You’re afraid to be alone with me. That’s why you didn’t want to come to my apartment,” he gasped. Feyre nodded hesitantly.

“I guess it wasn’t smart to refuse coming to your place, only to choose a spot that is equally void of people”, she deadpanned. _Cauldron._ Rhys ran a hand through his hair.

“How was that, you don’t know whether I’m a psycho killer or not?” he jested, trying to make light of the situation, but his smile faltered at the look on her face. “Shit Feyre, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would scare you so much coming here...”

“No, no. _I_ was the one who proposed coming here. I just didn’t realize...”

“That there wouldn’t be other people around on a Friday noon in this part of the forest?”

She nodded again. Rhys shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped back, putting some physical distance between them to put her at ease, although every instinct in him screamed to get closer and hug her, protect her.

“That’s why you wanted to walk closer to the city. Cause that part of the forest is more busy, right?” He smiled at her weakly. Stupid. He was so stupid. Guarded as she was, of course she would avoid situations like this, where she was alone with a stranger in the middle of nowhere. He might just have botched whatever chances he had in getting closer to her. “I’m sorry for making you come out here.”

“No, Rhys, please! Don’t apologize! I just… I just panicked a bit. I don’t think you would harm me. It’s just...” She bit her lip and ran a hand over her face. It broke his heart seeing her like this. So much, that he couldn’t even feel joy over the fact that she had finally called him Rhys.

“Look, it is okay.” He still didn’t make any move to come closer or touch her. Instead he motioned towards the crossroads that was close by.

“I wanted to go even deeper, so we can take a longer walk, but if we go left here, we will be close to the city in no time. Or we can just go back. If you want to go on alone, that’s fine too. Your choice.” He didn’t want her to go, but if it meant she felt safer for it, he would let her.

“No!” Feyre blurted out. “No, it’s fine. Don’t go, please. Let’s continue.”

Relief crashed over him like a wave and Rhys let out a great sigh.

“Thank god. I was almost convinced you were about to dump my sorry ass. Would have set a new record.” He winked at her and Feyre face brightened up slightly, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards.

“As if you have ever been in the danger of being dumped. Not with that face,” she commented.

“Are you calling be pretty, darling? But it's true, I've never been dumped before, hence, it would have set a new record.”

Rhys smirked at her, hoping to gloss over the situation with their joking, but Feyre’s face crumpled.

“I am sorry. About just now...”

“There is no need to apologize”, he quickly intercepted.

Feyre shook her head. “I would like to explain why I am so… cautious around people. Men.” She picked at a loose thread on her scarf. And then she started talking.

☽✴☾

Blood was thrumming in his ears, while he listened to Feyre telling him her story, and he was desperately trying to stay calm. He wanted to rip that asshole ex of hers into tiny, little pieces. To think this beautiful, wonderful creature walking next to him had been subjected to such treatment made him want to scream and beat at something. Preferably that tool she had been dating. _Why, just why do people do those things to each other_ , he asked himself, while he stared at her in silence. She kept fiddling with her scarf and very obviously tried not to look at him while she continued recounting her past.

“And before I knew it, I was engaged."

It hit him like a blow and he inhaled sharply. _Engaged_. She had been engaged. His… no, not his anything. Not yet anyways. But still. To think the girl that he liked, the girl that had stolen his heart from the very first moment he had laid eyes on her, had almost married some controlling, abusive excuse of a man…

"Funny thing is, it never occurred to me that I could say no.” Feyre continued talking. “Tamlin had not only taken care of me and showered me with gifts, but he also helped my dad back on his feet. His father owns a huge corporation, back home he’s like the unofficial ruler of the district. Tamlin worked in a leading position in his father’s company, so when he heard of my fathers… let’s call it misfortunes, he pulled some strings to help my father back on his feet. How could I reject his proposal, when he basically pulled my family out of their financial misery? I thought I owed him somehow.”

Rhys felt the bile rise in his throat. So similar. Her story was so similar to the way Amarantha had used whatever power she had to control him like a puppet and made sure he acted like she had wanted. Icy rage threatened to consume him and his hands started shaking. He wanted to rip something apart, to punch something, but instead he clenched his hands into fists and shoved them into his pockets. It was then that he noticed that Feyre had stopped talking and was watching him instead. He nodded for her to continue talking and she swallowed. He hoped, his feelings didn’t show too much. He didn’t want to scare her.

“But that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it. For me to become dependent on him, so I couldn’t leave. I didn’t realize what was happening to me until it was too late. I was unhappy, yet I kept telling myself that I wasn't, that this just was how things were supposed to be, that I was being ungrateful after all he had done for me. He gave me money and clothes and took care of everything. If I married him, I would have led a comfortable life as a rich wife. Only that's not how it is in reality. It was only after I left that I realized how unhealthy this relationship had been. That instead of a partnership, we had been addicted to each other, him feeding my addiction to be needed, albeit in another way than I was used to. And me feeding his addiction, his need to protect and having someone that he could take care of, someone he perceived to be weaker than himself, so he could overlook his own insecurities and low self-esteem. But like with a drug, you can’t get away, even when you know it’s bad for you.”

She took a shuddering breath. Rhys could relate so well, it was almost comical. He too hadn’t been able to get away from that poisonous woman that had almost destroyed him.

“Tamlin and I… We didn’t fit. We were constantly fighting, constantly pushing and pulling. My emotions were all over the place all the time, going from high to low, from hot to cold. Feeling like that… I thought that was love. Because that is what they tell you in all those stories and movies and songs. The crazy, the intense, the all-consuming passion, that this is what love is. That if it is not exiting, burning, in turmoil, then it is not love. In reality, it was stress. Constant stress. And at some point my body couldn’t hold up anymore. I had headaches almost every day. I couldn’t sleep, and when I did I had nightmares. More often than not, I would hurl my guts up afterwards. I couldn’t hold my food down. Instead, I drank more than was healthy to soothe my nerves. But then again Tamlin didn’t like me drinking. He didn’t like anything I was doing. I couldn’t make it right for him.”

Feyre broke off, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers, and exhaling with a sigh. Rhys heart broke seeing her like this. He wanted nothing more than hold her, tell her she was safe with him, kiss away the wrinkles that furrowed her brow, but he knew she wouldn’t let him. Not when she had been so scared earlier.

So instead he asked, “How.”

Feyre looked up to him a tired expression on her face. “What do you mean?”

“How did you get away?” The way she described things, there must have been some kind of trigger. One usually didn’t get out of such a relationship on their own, not if they had stayed that long to begin with. Something must have happened and he hoped, it hadn’t been anything bad. He didn’t know if he could stand hearing it. Feyre’s gaze drifted to her right, seeing a scene that had long happened. She winced at whatever memory replayed in her mind, before she snapped back to the present and faced him again, her eyes softening and an almost-smile playing at her lips.

“My friend helped me.”

_Must be a damn good friend_ , he thought. When he had been dating Amarantha, he had refused to listen to Mor and his family for the longest time when they tried to open his eyes about her. And manipulative people like her ex usually succeeded in alienating their partners from friends and family. He was glad she had that friend. Immensely glad. Else, she wouldn’t be walking alongside him now, peering into his face nervously. But he was still grappling to control his emotions.

“I probably hurt him just as much, you know,” she resumed. “I was the biggest stressor in his life, because I just wouldn't behave like he wanted me to. It's not in my nature to sit still and follow instructions. I should have never even gone out with him, or stayed with him as long as I did. But I wasn't honest with myself, so how could I be with him? Growing up as I did, I never learned to communicate well. Neither with the people around me, nor with myself. I only knew to ignore my own needs and put others needs first. Even if I had to wreck myself fulfilling them.”

Feyre stopped again and Rhys paused to looked at her. She looked him dead in the eye, her gaze bright and piercing.

“The reason why I tell you all this is not because I want your pity or because I want to cast myself as a victim here, but…” She took a deep breath. “I need… I want you to know that I am broken and healing. And it will probably take a long time before I am fully okay.”

Rhys knew he was in love with her then. Not because she was beautiful, or intelligent, or funny. But because the way she said those things, the way she looked at him, spoke of her strength and her unwavering determination. She was no victim, no damsel that needed saving, but a fighter, who bit and clawed her way through life, a survivor. She was breathtaking. And Rhys wanted to conquer the world to lay it at her feet. Or help her conquer it for herself.

“I'll probably grapple with some issues my whole life. Like learning to communicate properly. And my need to be in control in any given situation.”

“Like being somewhere without a way out or protect yourself, in case someone has harmful intentions? Like my house or the middle of the woods?” He asked softly. Ferye nodded.

“It is not that I assume you would… It’s just… I have been locked up and robbed of my freedom for so long, I don't want to have it taken away from me ever again. That may make me a paranoid – “

“No!” Rhys stopped her before she could finish that sentence. “No, that makes you smart. Remember what I said about learning about decisions and strategies by looking at the past?” Feyre nodded and he continued. “Well, you do the same, only you look at your own past and reflect upon the decisions you made. I would hardly call you paranoid; experienced would be more like it.”

A delicious blush crept up from her neck all the way to her cheeks, but Feyre quickly tilted her head, so her hair fell over her face like a veil, almost completely obscuring her crimson face and her eyes, which were suspiciously damp, murmuring a quiet thank you. She had taken it out of its braid earlier, and now it fell in soft waves over her back and shoulders. Rhys felt the strong urge to brush her hair out of the way and kiss her better. But he wouldn’t. He swore to himself right this moment to not touch her, until she explicitly wanted him to. He would wait for however long it took until she was ready for him. Even if it was never and she only wanted to be with him as friends. That would be fine too.

“There is no need to thank me. I actually can relate quite well to where you are coming from.” Feyre’s head whipped around. Rhysand gave her a sad little smile. “I had similar shitty relationships in the past.” The least he could to after she had told him her story was to do the same.

Her mouth hung open and she quickly closed it. “No shit? Do tell!”

“What a dirty mouth you have there, Feyre darling.” He winked playfully and made a wide sweeping motion with his arm while bowing at the waist.  “After you, Mylady. Lead the way. I'll talk as we walk.”

He hoped she would be more comfortable with him, when it was her making the choices about their direction. Understanding crept into her eyes and when they approached the crossroads, she studied him a moment, making up her mind. Rhys didn’t dare avert his gaze. And then she smiled, not a full smile, but it still was enough to make his legs grow weak. She took the path that he had wanted to take, the one that would lead them even deeper into the forest and Rhys couldn’t believe his luck as he followed after her.


	3. Chapter 3

Nervously waiting for Feyre to arrive was easily becoming Rhys’ standard way to pass time, seeing that he was waiting for her - again. This time, she _was_ late, which didn’t mean that he hadn’t been 30 minutes early again. He just couldn’t help it. He was just too excited to sit still and wait until it was time to see her again. Which was exactly why he had asked her for a second date on the same day. To his surprise she had said yes. He hadn’t been sure she would.

Their date had been fantastic, and there had been no denying the chemistry between them. Never before had he told anyone outside his family about Amarantha, but with her he had had the feeling - no, he had _known_ \- that Feyre would understand. He still couldn’t tell her what exactly his horrible ex had done to him, how deep the scars ran, how much he still despised himself for the things he did and how he didn’t break away sooner, but with time, he would. If Feyre let him.

She had been clearly surprised when he had admitted he was looking for a serious relationship. Considering she had just ended her engagement – Rhys couldn’t help bit grind his teeth whenever he thought about that – it was understandable she wasn’t keen on jumping into the next relationship.

But the looks and little smiles she had given him had suggested, that she had more than a passing interest in him. And when he couldn’t help it but confess that he wished they would become friends or something more, she had blushed such a deep shade of red, that he was certain she felt something for him, too.

And their hug at the end…

Rhys had sworn to himself to refrain from touching her, until she was ready or wanted him to, but he hadn’t been able to resist to pull her into a tight hug, tighter than the ones before, and rest his head on her shoulder. He had had half a mind to bury his face in her neck and hair, maybe even sneak a kiss onto the exposed sliver of her neck, but he had somehow managed to restraint himself. And she had hugged him back, holding onto him, like she, too, didn’t want to let go.

His tennis practice afterwards had been a disaster, because he couldn’t focus at all, but instead, he kept replaying their conversation in his head and recounting the smiles she had given him. 

But then again, she _had_ been kind of hesitant about agreeing to their second date…

Screeching brakes startled him out of his thoughts. Braking hard, Feyre came to a stop on her bicycle right next to Rhys.

“Hey there.”

She beamed up at him, the broadest smile she had given him yet, a playful look on her face. She had probably braked that way on purpose to surprise him, feisty little thing that she was.

Her hair, which was piled atop hear head in a bun, looked slightly disheveled and the tip of her nose and her cheeks were slightly pink, probably from the headwind. She looked adorable.

Rhys smiled an equally broad smile in return. Did he imagine it or did the pink on her cheeks actually turn a shade darker?

“Hey,” he answered.

“I need to lock my bike, just a second,” Feyre said and pushed her bike to the next lantern pole.

Rhys trailed closely behind. When she bent over her bike to unfasten the chain and sling it around the lantern pole, he tried not check out her backside too obviously, but the way she presented her behind for him on a silver platter was just unfair. He caught himself in time before she straightened and turned to him.

“You're wearing a coat!” Judging from the way he looked him up and down, she liked what she saw.

“I promised you I would, Feyre darling,” he purred “And for that picture of my kitchen.” With great flourish, he pulled out his phone, tapped on the screen and handed it to her. “Choose whichever you like best.”

Feyre burst into giggles and Rhys could’ve sworn he never heard anything more adorable.

“What if I had told you I preferred blondes. Would you have dyed your hair for tonight?” she asked, out of breath from laughing.

_Yes. Definitely. Absolutely_. “Possibly,” he replied.

Feyre let out a satisfied hum. “I must have you wrapped around my finger, if you're willing to go that far.”

She gave him a lazy smile, looking up to him through her lashes. Rhys wasn’t sure whether the seductive look was deliberate, but it was sexy as hell.

 “Cruel, beautiful woman.”

Feyre blushed deeply at his words, but she didn’t reply. Instead she kept staring into his eyes and Rhys immediately felt the tension rising between them. Feyre’s tongue darted forward to wet her lips and his eyes couldn’t help but follow its way across her bottom lip, leaving it glistening moistly. He wanted to taste her lips, taste her, run his own tongue over that lush bottom lip, push it into her…

Rhys broke their gaze and eyed the pub, before his mind descended further into the gutter. If they’d continue like this, he didn’t know how long he could hold true on his promise not to touch her.

Coughing shyly, he asked, “So this is the place that makes the best pork roast in Velaris?”

 “Yeah. Let’s go in, shall we? I’m freezing.”

Was it him, or did she sound slightly disappointed?

She led the way and reached out for the door handle to pull it open, but Rhys was quicker. With a little smile, he held the door open for her and motioned for her to go first. Feyre raised an eyebrow at him and stepped through, but moved quickly to the second, inner door, which served to break the draft from outside, and did the same for Rhys.

It amused him to no end. Of course she couldn’t just let a guy spoil her, she needed to establish her prowess and control. And observe his reacting. Rhys saw it for the test it was and, with a nod and a little smile, stepped into the bar ahead of her.

He must have passed, because Feyre entered after him into the dimly lit bar and came to stand next to him while he looked around.

 “Where do you wanna sit?” he asked, scanning the tables. It was a nice place, dark wood, high ceiling with stucco plasters, the walls painted in a dark, yet pastel colored green that surprisingly didn’t clash with the velvet plush covers of the chairs. Huge framed prints hung in equal spacing on the walls, looking like something between Toulouse-Lautrec and a more subdued version of Pop Art. The whole place looked like the love-child of an old cinema and and a ball room. Rhys liked it immensely, Feyre really had great taste. Not that it surprised him all that much.

“Dunno, maybe over there? By the corner?” Feyre motioned to some tables in the far back. “I makes a good observation spot.” When Rhys turned to look at her, cocking his head, she shrugged. “I like watching people,” she explained.

“So do I.” Really, it was ridiculous just how similar they were. He smiled and motioned again for her to go first.

They choose the smallest table backed against the wall. Rhys unbuttoned his coat and took it off, desperately fighting down the smirk that just wanted to break out: Feyre was ogling him, trying not to be too obvious about it, but the way she glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes and – even more obvious – bit down on her lower lip repeatedly told him she much appreciated what she saw. Rhys was glad to have dressed up for the occasion. And to have a noticeable effect on her.

He sat down and undid his cuffs, pushing the up to his elbow. Compared to the blistering, foggy could outside, it was hot in the pub and he was sure, the moment people started filing it, it would get even hotter.

Turning to Feyre, he saw her smoothing back some hairs that had escaped her updo. He’d never given the elaborate hairstyles women did a second glance, because he liked it best when they let their hair down, hanging loose for him to run his fingers through and play around with, but with her hair out of the way, he got to admire the elegant curve of Feyre’s slender neck. Some tiny baby hairs had escaped the bun on the top of her head, curling around her face and the nape of her neck because of the wet November fog outside. Rhys was overcome with the sudden urge to touch the fine locks and press a kiss to her exposed neck.

Tearing his gaze away from her, the took up the menu and made a show of studying it, but he couldn’t help stealing glances at her in between. She was wearing a pretty blouse that was tied into a ribbon at the end of the V-cut neckline. It covered her chest modestly – that was, until she crossed her arms and put them on the table before her, leaning forward. The weight of the ribbon pulled the fabric away from her chest, allowing him a glimpse of the very low-cut lace top she was wearing underneath.

It was purple. Rhys loved purple. And the view of her cleavage he got.

His mouth was suddenly incredibly dry and he desperately wished for the waiter to come around and bring him a drink. Anything would do.

Seeing the amused glint in Feyre’s eyes, he knew she had done it deliberately. The little vixen was toying with him, he realized. She was clearly interested in him, but he didn’t know to what capacity yet.

_Well, it’s time to find out,_ he thought.

☽✴☾

“What are you looking for in a relationship?” Rhys asked. He couldn’t wait any longer, he had to know where they stood, if he had any chance at all.

They had been sitting in the pub for hours now, enjoying their dinner and each other’s company and Rhys had felt himself fall deeper and deeper in love with her with every word that came out of her mouth, every little smile and glance she cast his way. He had it so bad for Feyre Archeron, he was beyond crushing on her – he was irrevocably in love.

And he needed to know if she was about to break his heart before it got any worse.

Feyre stared into the distance for a moment, pondering his question.

“I’d want a partner. Not someone I depend on or who depends on me, but someone who is his own person. Someone, who likes me for being me and chooses to spend time with me. Not because he needs to, but because it makes him happy to share that with me. But who is also able and willing to spend time on his own, away from me, because he has his own hobbies and interests.”

Rhys did his best to keep still, when all the wanted to do was nod along with every point and scream at her _me, that’s me, I want that to! I want to be your partner!_

But he kept his mouth shut and Feyre continued her list.

“Someone who is my best friend, a person I can spill my heart out to, tell my darkest secrets and greatest fears and who won’t be disgusted by it or judge me for it and walks away when I show him who I am. Or who feels threatened by me and feels the need to prove himself for it.”

“Did that happen to you?” Rhys frowned.

“All the time.” She admitted, shrugging. “I was once dating this guy in high school, who was in the same year. He didn’t like that my grades were slightly better than his. He would get really competitive about it, especially before exams. I couldn’t have cared less, to be honest. Another one I dated briefly in college was really put out that I didn’t downright admire him. He asked me to tutor him for a class he had failed repeatedly. Only he didn’t actually like me tutoring him, because it implied I was smarter than him, or so he thought.” She took a sip of her beer and scowled, her nose scrunching adorably when she did. “I probably was, though. And he was impossibly vain.”

Feyre dared to throw Rhys a look and a smirk. He answered with a smirk on his own and picked an imaginary lint off his shirt. She snorted.

“He’d often ask me whether this shirt or that pants looked good on him and I made the mistake of replying honestly. We clashed more often and he grew distant, cancelling dates and stuff. I broke up with him. Later I found out he had been cheating on me. I reckon with someone who was better at stroking his ego.”

Rhys made a little sound of disgust and shook his head. To cheat on their girlfriend only because she was smart and wonderful and toppled that false image of manliness most of men clung to, He hated men like that. “Pathetic,” he said.

Feyre shrugged again as if it didn’t bother her anymore and took another sip. “What are you looking for. In a relationship I mean?” she asked instead.

Rhys carefully searched her face. Her. He had been looking for her. She was exactly what he wanted in a relationship. But how to tell her without scaring her away, when she was so guarded, so careful about men?

Rhys chose the roundabout way, unable to withstand the opportunity to let her know, that, contrary to the guys she used to date, he could match her knowledge wise .

“Do you know Platon’s Symposium?” he asked. Feyre shook her head.

“It’s a philosophical text consisting of speeches in praise of the greek god Eros, given by several man at a banquet. One of the men, the playwright Aristophanes, tells a myth about the origin of men. Based on this myth, in primal times humans were spherical beings. They had two faces, four arms and four legs on either side.”

Feyre’s eyes glazed over as she was imagining it and her lips twitched.

“How did the walk?” she inquired, trying her best to keep her tone neutral, but Rhys could hear the suppressed laughter in her voice.

“By doing cartwheels,” he deadpanned and Feyre giggled, the sound so pure and lovely, he was sure when bottled, it could cure cancer.

“There were those that were purely male or purely female, but some were both. They were incredibly powerful beings, but also boisterous and overachieving. Not content with their place in the world, they tried to scale the Olymp and take the place of the gods. To prevent this, but not ridding themselves of their worshippers, Zeus split their bodies in half, creating men as we know them. But the new humans felt something was missing from then, they longed to be whole again. So they sought out other humans and clung to them in the hopes of growing back together. Those who were purely male before sought out other males, the purely female ones clung to other females and those who were both sought out the other sex. And because all they did was cling to each other, they would have starved eventually, so Zeus took pity on them and put their genitalia in front, so they could deal with their longing in another way.”

Rhys smirked at her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, which caused her to rol her eyes at him, yet a faint blush spread over her cheeks.

“So?”

Rhys’ smirk turned sheepish, his heart pounding hard in his chest. _Now or never_ , he thought. “I’m looking for my other half, so I can be whole again.”

Feyre hastily took a sip of her beer and averted her eyes, the color on her cheeks now a delicious shade of pink. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

She nervously licked her lips as she set down her drink. “How does it look like, your other half? she inquired.

His heart, if possible, picked up its pace and he started feeling slightly dizzy because of all the blood rushing to his head.

_I’m pretty sure I’m looking at it right now_. But instead he said, “I don’t know yet. But I guess they’ll be a lot like me? Since we used to be one.”

“Male then?” Feyre asked with an amused look.

Rhyd chuckled and unconsciously leaned a bit closer, bracing his forearms on the table. He only realized he had when Feyre squirmed in her seat at their sudden proximity. It made Rhys go for a bolder approach

“I think not, seeing that I’m currently on a date with _you_. Unless you have something to tell me?” He winked for good measure and then and dodged when Feyre swatted at him.

“Prick,” she muttered, cheeks burning bright red. If it was because she was embarrassed or because of his words, he didn’t know. Chuckling darkly, Rhys caught her hand, but released it right away.

“No, I mean someone who thinks the way I do, who holds the same values and beliefs and who is my equal in every way.” He clarified and then looked deep into her eyes, hoping she would get the message. “A partner, you could say.”

Feyre went perfectly still, but didn’t avert her eyes. Instead she met his stare levelly.

“And how do you make sure that person is your other half?” she said, almost too quiet to hear.

Rhys leaned in even closer, unable to keep away any longer. “I guess I have no choice but to cling to them and see if we fit.”

This close, Rhys could count the freckles that adorned her nose and cheeks, even in the dim candlelight of the bar. He was half tempted to search for his favorite constellations in them, but he managed not to. He also managed not to drop his gaze to her lips, afraid to let her know just how desperate he wanted to press his lips to hers. Instead he lost himself in the blue-grey depts of her eyes, admiring the long lashes that frames her beautiful eyes.

 He was so lost in the contemplation of her, that he was startled when she spoke.

“Why aren’t you clinging to me then?”

_Did she really just say that?_ Rhys blushed a deep red, all the way to the tips of his ears, but he didn’t pull back.

“Aren’t I though? Clinging to you, I mean,” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“But you haven’t touched me. For the whole day, you haven’t even tried to hold my hand.” Feyre cast her eyes down to where their hands were lying atop the table, close, but not touching.

A thrill of pure undiluted joy trickled down Rhys spine. The way she had said it, it sounded like she had been waiting for him to make a move on her all day.

“I wasn’t really sure you wanted to be touched by me. And I wouldn’t touch people without their consent,” he admitted, closely observing her while she looked at their hands. He still didn’t reach for her. He needed to hear her say it.

But Feyre was quicker. Glancing back up, she looked up and her face spoke volumes about how much she wanted to have him touch her. Rhys assumed his own face mirrored the longing he saw in hers. Instead of waiting for him to make the move, she slipped her small, cool hand into his.

“I do,” she breathed and Rhys was sure his heart stopped right there and then. But then she remarked, “Your hands are cold. And sweaty,” she added, giving him a little shy smile.

Rhys groaned and tried to pull away, but Feyre gripped his hand tighter.

“Don’t. I don’t mind,” she said and stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. This little touch had more effect on him than it should, warmth spreading from the places she touched. With some confusion he realized that some of the blood that had rushed to his head was now rushing to his neither regions, concentration in a certain location in response to her innocent caress.

Rhys swallowed and returned her stroke with his own thumb, brushing it over the back of her hand.

“Sorry, my hands get like that when I’m nervous,” he admitted.

“You’re nervous?” Feyre blinked at in surprise.

“ _Cauldron_ , Feyre, I have been nervous the whole damn day.” He forced out a breathy laugh. Feyre looked at their clasped hands and placed her other hand on the back of his, cupping it between both of hers. She leaned a bit closer to him,

“I’m nervous, too,” she admitted, squeezing his hand softly.

They sat like this for a while, looking at their joined hands, stealing glances at each other from time to time and enjoying the silence that stretched between them, only interrupted by the steady hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses around them. Feyre kept stroking and playing with his fingers, slowly touching and caressing each individually. Rhys soon returned the favor, pressing little circles onto her skin, her knuckles. He worked his way from the tips of her fingers over her palm and slowly towards her wrist. When he brushed his fingertips over her pulse point, she shivered adorably, and caught his hand, taking control again. Rhys chuckled and gazed at her, the way her eyes were fixated on their intertwined fingers, how her lashed cast little half-moon-shaped shadows on her cheeks. And then she looked up giving him a little smile.

He wanted to kiss her. And he was sure she wanted to, too.

“Feyre -”

“Um, excuse me?”

Their heads whipped around to the waiter, who was standing in front of them, looking rather embarrassed. He must have stood here for a while, but they had been so engrossed with each other, they didn’t notice. They hastily drew apart.

“I just wanted to ask you, if you’d like another drink. It’s the last round.”

Rhys was startled out of the little bubble he had spent the last few hours in. Last round? It surely couldn’t be this late. Rhys took out his phone to look at the time and swore inwardly. It was 12:45 am. They had completely lost track of time.

“No, no I think not, thank you,” Rhys stammered, arching an eyebrow at Feyre in question.

She nodded.  

Yet, they tried to delay their departure by finishing their drinks as slow as they could. Only when the barkeeper kept throwing dirty looks their way did Rhys let out a deep sigh. Well, all good things had to end at some point.

“We should probably go,” he said, observing how the barkeeper made his way to their table, slamming the stools down rather noisily to indicate they were closing.

“Yeah.” Rhys was happy to hear the slight disappointment in her voice. He didn’t want to go either.

They stood and made to leave. Feeling more confident than before, Rhys caught her hand and led her out of the restaurant. Feyre didn’t comment, but he caught the little embarrassed smile she tried to hide in her scarf, causing butterflies to flutter in his stomach. They walked to where her bike stood and Feyre had to let go of his hand momentarily to unlock the chain that secured her bike to the lantern. After wrapping it under the saddle, she turned back towards Rhys. He held out both hands for her and she took them without hesitation, closing the distance between.

“Thank you for today,” she whispered.

“No, I have to thank you. See you soon?” he asked. They had spent almost all day together, but he still wanted to see her again as soon as possible. If he was being honest, he didn’t even want to let her go.

“Definitely,” she said, her eyes regarding him with warmth.

And then he tugged her towards him or she tugged him towards her and their lips came together like stars colliding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stuggled so hard with this!  
> I'm sorry the update has taken so long, but me and Rhys had a bit of a fight about how we wanted this chapter to be written, and he was brooding somewhere in the back of my mind for a bit.  
> I'm still not 100% convinced, but I don't want to keep you from his non-stop gushing any longer.   
> (warning! not proofread or edited!!!)
> 
> I hope you liked it!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @howtotameyourillyrian


	4. Chapter 4

Rhys caught her in an embrace, placing his hands at the small of her back and pulling her a bit closer, while their lips were engaging in a mutual dance of touching and withdrawing.

A small moan escaped her lips and Rhys, afraid he had squeezed her too hard or had gone ahead of himself, pulled back to search her face.

But Feyre grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him back towards her, a hungry expression on her face.

Rhys exhaled softly in relief and readily leaned down again to put his lips back on hers, daring to slid one hand up to cradle her head and caress her jaw with his thumb while he kissed her.

Feyre angled her head and raised herself up on the tips of her toes to meet him halfway, pressing herself closer to him. Her desperation to have his lips on hers was hard to ignore and a rush of excitement went through him, filling Rhys with heady bliss about the fact that she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her.

Then, without warning, Feyre’s tongue suddenly brushed over his bottom lip and Rhys felt his member twitch in response, instantly growing hard. He couldn't suppress the shudder that raked his body as a sudden, strong wave of lust hit him. Tightening his grip on her back, he dared to push his own tongue forward and slid it into her still open mouth.

Their tongues intertwining and swirling around each other in lazy, languid strokes, fulfilled every fantasy he’d had about kissing her, but it drove him crazy all the same. He never wanted to stop. He wanted more.

“Feyre,” he whispered against her lips, biting down gently on her lower lip.

She moaned in response and went pliant, arching her back and tilting her head back even further, so he could push his tongue deeper into her mouth.

Her responding so eagerly to his kisses drove him even more wild and he pressed closer as he held her, dark, wild desire coursing through him. He was rock-hard already and he hoped she didn't notice, because if she did and didn’t withdraw or showed any other kind of inclination to stop, or even welcomed his physical reaction to her, like she did with his kisses, Rhys couldn’t vouch for what he would do next.

Their kissing turned more urgent, heated; every movement of her tongue against his pushing rational thought a bit further to the back of his mind. He knew they were in the middle of a street in a residential area and that they should probably stop, but he found himself unable to.  

And then she suddenly fell backwards, her bicycle she had apparently attempted to lean on during their frenzied make-out clattering to the ground with much noise. Arms already tightly wrapped around her, Rhys caught Feyre before she could fall onto the cobblestones.

Feyre glanced up to him from under her lashes, her eyes slightly widened in shock at her near fall, her lips swollen and glistening moistly. Rhys had to fight down the urge to continue kissing her and straightened, pulling her up with him.

“Seems like we got a bit carried away.”

Flashing her a little embarrassed smile, Rhys smoothed back her hair from her face, finally able to touch the little fine hairs that framed it. They had been tempting him all evening.

Feyre blushed and stretched to give him a quick peck on the lips, filling with joyous surprise at the almost casual gesture, before pulling away to pick up her bike. Lifting it up from the ground, she positioned it between them like barrier.

_Good thinking_ , Rhys decided and buried his hands into his pockets, lest they found their way around her waist again and pulled her close for another round of tongue-wars.

“Uhm…” Feyre said, looking slightly flustered.

He couldn’t blame her. He had no idea how to continue either.

“Write me when you’re home?” Rhys finally said. “To let me know your safe?”

“Okay,” Feyre mumbled, looking entirely not okay as she said it.

Rhys nodded, because he too didn't want to separate, and stepped closer, pressing a tender kiss to her brow.

“Drive careful.” he whispered.

He wished he could bring her, but somehow, that felt like overstepping the boundaries. And he wasn't sure they wouldn't maybe end up in her bed, if he brought her home. It wasn't something they should do yet, even if his painful erection led to believe otherwise.

“I will.” she said, looking so cute in the way she gave him a little scowl, that Rhys thought _, well, damn it all,_ and pressed one last, lingering kiss to her lips.

Feyre sighed contently. She really needed to stop doing that, or else he would never manage to stop.

It seemed that Feyre was thinking the same thing, because she said, “Really, you will have to actually physically remove yourself, else we are going to stay here the whole night.”

Rhys chuckled and withdrew.

“Well then, Feyre darling. I’ll wait for your message.”

And with that, he took a few steps back, but remained standing and watching her to make sure he saw her off as long as he could. Feyre smiled at him fondly while she mounted her bicycle.

“See you in a bit,” she said and then she was off.

As she turned the corner further down the street, she threw a last look behind her and Rhys could've sworn he saw her smile.

Fuck, he was so in love.

☽✴☾

Rhys turned off the stove and poured himself his second espresso of the day. He normally tried to stick to only one coffee, but his night had been short.

He'd come home to find a message from Feyre, telling him she’d already reached home. He hadn't noticed receiving it when he had walked home himself, too dazed by what had just happened.

He hadn't been able to resist asking her not to moan when she dreamt of him, wishing she would. Dream of him. For the moaning he wanted to be present when it took place, he decided, and then mentally slapped himself. He was astonished how one day with her had him revert into a horny teenager, raging with hormones.

Said hormones also caused him to wake up in the middle of the night from an equally frightening and wonderful wet dream.

Talking about her earlier on their first date, must've unlocked some of his memories with Amarantha, because Rhys had dreamed about her.

In his dream, the bitch had been holding him captive, strapped to a bed in what looked like an underground chamber or dungeon, the walls rough-hewn and moist. He saw her face with that weird certainty of a dreamer, who couldn't really make out the features of the person they looked at, but simply knew it was them.

Amarantha had straddled him, raking her nails over his naked chest and abdomen, inching closer to his groin. And although he’d felt trapped and disgusted, and struggled against the chains that held him, he could feel himself harden.

But then Amarantha's hair had turned from red to a soft caramel brown, her elaborate, springy curls straightening to soft waves and grew longer, and Rhys was suddenly looking into Feyre’s beautiful eyes as she leaned down and kissed him, brushing away the mere cobwebs that were now holding him with a flicker of her small hands, intertwining their fingers.

Dream-Feyre had kissed him ardently and suddenly she’d been underneath him, moaning like she had when he had bit her bottom lip, him buried inside of her, pumping away.

He had woken mere seconds after he'd come, the way the girl in his dream had whispered his name still echoing in his mind. With a curse, Rhys had gotten out of bed and gone to the bathroom to clean up, before changing the sheets in the middle of the night.

Falling asleep hadn't been easy, because not only was he haunted by the memory of Amarantha, but he’d felt slightly ashamed to have dreamt about Feyre that way. Rhys knew that he couldn't have prevented it, that his brain had shown him what it had, because it was sorting through the impression of his day, but he still was loathing himself slightly. That his mind had jumbled together his abusive ex with Feyre didn't help. The scarce rest of his night was filled with tossing and turning, more dozing than sleeping.

But once he had gotten up and his first coffee had shaken of the remnants of sleepiness - and consequently his night - he found himself constantly thinking about Feyre. Not in the way he had dreamt about her, but affectionately.

Rhys spent the morning in a daze, calling to his mind the way she had smiled, how the candlelight had washed over her skin and hair, setting off the brassy gold hues in her light-brown hair and making her eyes appear a dark grey instead of blue. He thought again and again about the way she had looked just before their lips had met, the hunger and longing that had been plainly visible on her face, the little content sigh when he kissed her that one last time.

Around 1 pm, he couldn't stand it any longer. Blinking into his computer and looking at his overflowing inbox, he realized he had been doing nothing for the last couple of hours but sit in front of it, thinking about Feyre.

He needed to get her out of his system somehow. Rhys decided, writing her was the best way to do so.

_Rhys: How are you, darling? What are you doing?_

He didn't really expect her to reply immediately. And he especially didn't expect the type of message he got.

_Feyre: Cursing the day you were born_ _._

What? When they'd been writing just before going to sleep, everything had been alright. What had changed? Where had he gone wrong?

They hadn't had that much beer and Feyre hadn't appeared even remotely drunk, but maybe she had been and now regret kissing him?

_Rhys: ?_

_Rhys: What did I do?_

Her answer came promptly.

_Feyre: Robbing me of my beauty sleep_

It took Rhys a couple of seconds to understand the implicature, but when he finally did, wild, undiluted joy coursed through him.

_Rhys: Darling, did you dream of me? ;)_

He wasn't just happy, he was gloating. To think that after last night, she had been just as excited as he had been about her, causing her to lose sleep over him!  

Feyre even confirmed as much in her next message.

_Feyre: I did. And couldn’t sleep because of it. Take responsibility, you prick!_

Rhys had to lay down his phone for a second and take a deep breath, running a hand over his face to calm down.

She had dreamt about him. In a way that had left her unable to sleep. There couldn't be anything that kept her awake but the same kind of dreams he'd had.

_Feyre had sexy dreams about me last night._ Rhys was grinning so hard, his face hurt. He was tempted to write her a naughty message, offering to take responsibility in a way that was guaranteed to leave her exhausted enough to fall asleep instantly, but thought better of it. They'd just kissed for the first time yesterday. He couldn't send her a sext.

Instead, he decided to offer her something else and decided to make it sound like a joke, just to be on the safe side in case she refused.

_Rhys: I’ll gladly offer my shoulder for you to sleep on ;)_

Rhys nervously stared at the phone, but Feyre didn't reply. She didn't even type. She just went mute. He must have finally pushed her too far.

Disappointed, Rhys set down his phone and leaned back in his chair, exhaling with a long sigh and letting his shoulders slump. But he was still slightly smug about the fact that she had admitted just how much their date last night had affected her. It was enough to finally shove his thoughts about her aside for now and get back to work.

But just as he opened the first email, his phone chimed again.

_Feyre: What’s your address_

Rhys gave a start and promptly dropped his phone. Cursing loudly, he picked it up again, staring at the message to make sure his Feyre-filled brain hadn’t made up the message.

It hadn’t. Feyre had really asked for his address. So she could come over. To take up the offer of his shoulders.

Fingers shaking, Rhys typed a reply, giving her his address. And then he dashed towards the bathroom as quickly as he could. With Feyre coming over, he didn't want to have a loaded gun in the house.

☽✴☾

Rhys had just spritzed on some perfume when he heard his ringer go off in the living room. Seeing it was Feyre calling, his stomach lurched. What if she called to tell him she wouldn't be coming after all?

“Hey darling, everything alright?” he said when he picked up the phone.

“Uhm, I think I may be lost.”

Her voice over the phone sounded slightly different, but hearing it made his heart beat faster, nonetheless.

Rhys let her explain where she was and then gave her precise directions how to find his house. She was already close, just on the other side of the noise protection wall in front of his apartment building, so Rhys positioned himself at his living room window to keep out an eye for her.

When he saw her pushing her bike down the street, approaching his building, he smiled and waved at her, not taking into account that she might now see him behind the glass. But then she started smiling, a broad, unrestrained smile, and pushed her bike a bit faster towards his building.

Rhys heartbeat picked up a notch and his palms started sweating. He quickly wiped them off on his pants and sauntered towards his front door, waiting for her to ring, his finger already poised over the button at the intercom.

She was here. This was really happening. Or it didn’t, because she didn't ring the doorbell.

He found out why a second later, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_Feyre: I don’t know where to ring._ _Can u open, plz_

Rhys chuckled when he read the message. Right, they never exchanged last names. He pushed down the buzzer and opened his apartment door. Feyre pushed the front door open and smiled when she saw him, almost running up the stairs.

“Hey,” she croaked out, her voice sounding a bit hoarse.

She looked like she had yesterday, slightly windswept and her cheeks and nose pink from the November cold outside, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She looked so cute and so different from the way she had when they'd been kissing frantically (not to mention the way he had when he'd dreamt about her), that Rhys was somehow feeling very shy all of a sudden.

Still, he couldn’t resist slinging an arm around her waist and placing a small kiss on her cold cheek. She didn’t seem to mind, but Rhys still didn’t dare kiss her full on the lips. Somehow didn't seem right.  

“Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred. “Do you want a room tour first before you nap?”

Her cheeks reddened visibly.

“First, I want to know what your last name is, before not knowing gets any more embarrassing.” she confessed.

Rhys smiled at her fondly. “It’s Nash. Come to think of it, I don’t know yours either.”

“Archeron. Feyre Archeron. No middle name,” she supplied.

Archeron. _Archer_. “You are kidding!” he said, completely caught off-guard. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

“What? Because I don’t have a middle name? Not everyone’s got a middle name.” Feyre said with a scowl.

“No. Your last name. It contains archer.” he said with a broad smile.

“So?”

“My name. Nash derives from Nushaba, one of the names for the star Gamma2Sagittarii,” Rhys explained.

“Sagittarri?” What does that -” Her face suddenly lit up and the scowl cleared away. “Sagittari. Like in the Sagittarius constellation?”

She huffed a little laugh as if she couldn’t believe it. A happy little rush went through him and Rhys brought his hands up to rest them on her hips, pulling her slightly closer. He knew she would understand his reference, after all, she was frighteningly smart. Rhys really wanted to kiss her right that very moment, but he settled for resting his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent.

“Hhhm. Nash is the arrowhead,” he purred.

“Wow!” Feyre was dumbfounded. “What an incredible coincidence.”

“Or maybe, Feyre darling, it’s fate.”

He pulled back enough to look into her eyes and wink at her, making her roll her eyes in response. But he saw the pink flush on her cheeks, that didn’t come from the cold alone, and the slight smile tugging at her lips. Rhys knew, she wasn’t entirely unaffected.

“Do you want a room tour before your nap?” he asked again, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“Sure.”

She shrugged off her jacket and Rhys hung it on a peg in the hallway, before showing her around, carefully studying her face to gauge her reaction to his place while he did. She was clearly impressed by the kitchen, a soft sigh escaping her. That reaction, however, was nothing compared to when she saw what he had in store for her in his living room.

Feyre’s breath caught audibly when she lay eyes upon the bookshelves that were lining the walls. She approached the shelves and ran a finger over the spines, tilting her head to read the titles, her lips moving silently. Her face was alight with joy and she as practically glowing as she beheld the rows of books in front of her. Rhys smiled at the sight. Could there be ever anything more beautiful than a woman taken with the sight of books?

She turned to him with shining eyes. It was the same way she had looked when she had first seen the Rainbow. Rhys wished he could make her look like this every minute of the day: cheeks flushed, a faint smile on her lips she probably didn’t realize was there and her eyes and her eyes wide and uncharacteristically bright.

“You’re welcome to borrow any book you like,” he offered.

Feyre turned back to the books, sighing longingly. Rhys was almost offended his books managed to coax out such a sweet sound of her.

“Just how many books do you have in here?” she asked, eyes roving over the shelves.

“In here?” Rhys shrugged. “Around 500 I’d say. There are more in the bedroom.”

He immediately regretted saying it, because he had just addressed the elephant in the room. Rhys had intentionally led her past his bedroom door during the little tour, not wanting to give her the impression that, because he offered her to take a nap on his shoulder, he was expecting anything to happen between them. And after the dream he’d had, he was almost reluctant to let her anywhere near his bed.

“Is that an elaborate trick to get me into bed?” Feyre teased.

Well, the milk was spilled, so in his panic Rhys defaulted into his usual cocky attitude, donning a smirk.

“Seeing as you came to take a nap, I’d say I don’t need tricks for that.”

They laughed to mask their embarrassment, but they were suddenly both feeling shy. Feyre lingered by the bookshelf and Rhys didn’t make any attempt to move closer, instead he nervously rubbed his neck and glanced around the room.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

“Water would be nice,” she admitted softly.

“Coming right up. Make yourself comfortable.”

With that, he left her alone and went to the kitchen, momentarily considering whether or not he should bang his head against the fridge. Deciding that Feyre would probably come running if she heard him bashing his own head in, he opted for burying his face in his hand.

He was so nervous, he thought he might faint, but Rhys took a deep breath and slapped his face once to wake himself up and force himself to get a grip.

He returned to the living room with a large pitcher of water and two glasses to find Feyre sitting on the couch. She took the glasses from him and he shot her a grateful smile, filled up both glasses and set the pitcher down on the little coffee table, before settling on the couch next to her.

“Cheers.” He raised his glass to hers and they clinked.

What followed was awkward silence.

Feyre sipped her water and so did he, conscious of her sitting on his couch next to him. It was almost like yesterday, when the tension between then had slowly built up during dinner, but then they had had a table between them and he hadn’t known if she actually felt comfortable with him touching her.

Now that Rhys knew how much she had wanted him to, and given how much she had seemed to like kissing him, he was even more confused. How far could he go? Would she mind him hugging her? Or even kissing her? Was yesterday just because of the mood and the beers they had? Would she refuse him now, if he tried to kiss her?

Just then, Rhys saw Feyre glance over to him, eyes trained on his chest, and for the tiniest moment, he thought he saw something like longing and hunger flash over her features before she took another gulp of water.

Oh, she wanted him, alright.

Rhys set down his own glass and rubbed again at the back of his neck.

“So you couldn’t sleep?” he inquired, looking anywhere but at her. He was battling with restraining himself from just pushing her down on his couch and continuing what they had started yesterday.

“Yeah,” was all she replied.

Rhys watched her out of the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t resist any longer.

“Been dreaming about me, have you?”

She just shot him a glare, not deigning to answer, but the light flush she’d been sporting ever since she arrived deepened into a singeing red. Rhys shifted on the couch, turning his body towards her.

“Pray tell, darling, how shall I take responsibility for keeping you awake?”

Rhys still tried to play it cool, but he was nervous as hell. He could help his gaze flickering to her mouth. He wanted to kiss her so badly, it almost hurt.

Slowly, Feyre set down her glass and turned to face him fully.

“I’d like to make use of your offer.”

Rhys, preoccupied with observing how her lips glistened with the water she just had, didn’t grasp what offer she referred to, so he cocked his head in question.

“Your shoulder,” she clarified. “I’d like to take a nap on your shoulder. If I can’t sleep dreaming about you, maybe I can with you close. Because like that, there’s no need to wish you were there.”

She had whispered the last words, but Rhys had heard them as clearly as she had been shouting them at him. He felt like it was suddenly very warm in the living room. But he didn’t hesitate, not if it meant getting to hold Feyre in his arms.

“Okay,” he mumbled and leaned back onto the couch until he was lying with his head against the headrest. He opened his arms for her in invitation.

Feyre laid down next to him and snuggled closer, aligning her body with his and placing her head on his shoulder. Rhys wrapped one arm around her, gently hugging her a bit closer. The feeling of her body against his felt divine.

“You comfortable?” he murmured against the top of her head.

With his nose practically buried in Feyre’s hair, he could smell the scent of her shampoo and a tendril of her perfume wafted up from her neck. He inhaled sneakily. _Cauldron_ , she smelled so good.

Feyre hummed and snuggled closer, pressing her face into his chest in return.

Rhys took this as a yes and began to run his fingers through her long, unbound strands. He had been dying to touch and play with it ever since they met and it felt every bit as soft and silky as he had imagined. He’d just wound one strand around his finger, admiring the little curl he made, when he felt her hand roaming over his chest in a smooth caress. Rhys went stiff and taut as a bowstring. They were so close and with her touching him like that, Rhys self-restraint was dangerously close to snapping.

Feyre must have realized it, because she ceased her caressing and instead placed her hand flat on his chest. He was sure she could feel just how hard his heart was beating because of her.

Rhys’ placed his free hand over hers and couldn’t resist the temptation to press a kiss on the top of her head.

“Can you sleep like this?” he asked in a low voice.

“I think so.” she mumbled into his chest.

“Mind if I read while you sleep?”

“No, of course not.”

Rhys let go of her hand and reached towards the coffee table for the book that was sitting there. They shuffled a bit to get comfortable again and settled back into their earlier position.

“Sleep well, darling,” Rhys said, placing another kiss on her head just because she hadn’t resisted or complained the first time and her head was within reach when her lips were not.

With a content sigh Feyre snuggled into his chest and went still. It didn’t take long and her breathing evened out and she relaxed further against him, having fallen asleep.

Rhys had intended to read his book to keep him entertained while Feyre slept, but that had been because he hadn’t realized just how entertaining watching her sleep could be.

Nestled against his shoulder, she was sleeping with her mouth hanging slightly open, breathing through her it and producing incredibly cute sounds. Sometimes, she would smack her lips or mumble something in her sleep, scowling at something she was seeing in her dream and wrinkling her nose most charmingly.

Rhys did not know for how long, but he kept staring at her, being utterly mesmerized. He was still excited about their proximity in a physical sense, but more than that, he just felt incredibly satisfied at holding Feyre in his arms while she slept, feeling completely awed that she let him.

This was exactly how he had imagined his perfect relationship to be, he realized. A tender and fuzzy feeling spread through his chest. Them, having a lazy day on the couch, reading and napping and doing nothing in particular, but simply content to have the other close.

He wanted this - not only today, but always. And he wanted it with her.

Slowly, he dropped his book and instead ran his hand over her head in a soft caress. Feyre didn’t stirr, so Rhys repeated the motion and tightened his hold on her with his other arm. She exhaled with a sweet sigh and nuzzled closer into his chest, inhaling deeply and audibly. And then she smiled.

Rhys insides turned to mush at the sight and he was overcome with a feeling so fond and precious, it threatened to choke him. He pressed his lips into her hair in a desperate attempt to somehow let it out.

“Feyre,” he murmured under his breath.

When she didn’t show any sights of waking, he continued. “I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but I think I’m very much in love with you. And I’d like for you to become my girlfriend. And then I want to spend every weekend - scratch that - every day like this, holding you in my arms and watching you sleep. Because I cannot imagine anything that would make me happier than this. Will you please let me love you?”

Feyre, of course didn’t respond, but she shifted in his arms, raising her face towards his in her sleep, mumbling something that could be either _Rhys_ or _kiss_ or nothing at all. Still, it made him incredibly happy and Rhys smiled as he looked into her beautiful, sleeping face.

For a second, he contemplated kissing her, but he wouldn’t do that, not when she was sleeping and couldn’t defend herself against his advances. She was already trusting him more than he had anticipated, coming to his apartment and falling asleep in his arms, he wouldn't betray her trust like this.

So Rhys simply gazed into her face and, when he grew drowsy and sleepy himself, closed his eyes.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***NSFW***

Rhys realized he was waking and the first thought that shot through his mind was _Feyre._ His arm tightened automatically in response to his thought to hug her close and make sure she was still there – only she wasn’t.

Alarmed, Rhys opened his eyes. Had it all been a dream after all? To his relief, it hadn’t. Feyre sat on the couch, looking down at him with a small smile on her lips and tousled hair.

“You look adorable,” Rhys said, his brain not yet fully awake to filter his brain to mouth connection.

She gave a little laugh. “So do you. It’s really hot.”

“Why thank you, darling,” he purred, his eyes drifting close again. He was so sleepy.

“No I mean in here. It’s really hot. And you’re practically a furnace.”

That got Rhys attention and he tore his eyes open, trying to blink away the sleepiness. He needed a few moments to process Feyre’s words, but slowly, his brain was waking up.

“Your cheeks are all pink. Aren’t you hot?” she asked and shrugged out of her wool cardigan.

Rhys couldn’t help staring at her breasts while she drew her arms behind her back to get out of the sleeves, presenting her chest for him to admire. Averting his eyes, he raised himself to a sitting position and ran a hand through his hair from the back to his front. His neck was indeed sweaty.

Feyre suddenly burst into giggles. Rhys frowned at her outburst, finally fully awake. Still giggling, Feyre reached out a hand and ran it over his hair, smoothing it back down.

“Who’s being adorable, hmm?” she teased.

 _You, because you’re the most adorable being ever,_ Rhys muttered under his breath and pulled his sweater off, throwing it over his desk chair at the other end of the room. Turning back to Feyre, he noticed her staring at his chest. Rhys cocked his head at her in a silent question.

“You have tattoos.” she stated.

“Yeah. I got them when I was around 18.” Rhys said warily.

Rhys didn’t like talking about his tattoos or showing them to other people all that much, as he got them for his mother and his Illyrian heritage. It was a deeply personal and delicate matter for him, tapping into the loss of his mother and the discrimination he’d been subjected to for most of his life. Growing up as part Illyrian in a predominantly white society, he had been suspected to latent racism for most of his life. Covering a big part of his skin in the markings of his mother’s tribe didn’t exactly help, but it was not like he was stripping in front of his professors or in a business meeting. His clothes usually kept them hidden well enough.

Really, the only situation people got to see his tattoos was when he went to bed with them. Something he fully intended to do with Feyre at some point. Still, what if she didn’t like his tattoos?

But it seemed he needn’t worry about that.

“Can I see?” Feyre sounded genuinely interested, her face curious.

Rhys’ face instantly turned into a smirk.

“Darling, if you want me to take my clothes off, all you need is to ask.”

Feyre didn’t deign to answer, instead she stared at him blankly, eliciting a chuckle from him. Pulling the collar of his tee aside, Rhys reveal a part of his tattoos that covered most of his pectoral and shoulder.

To his surprise, Feyre didn’t look at them with the appreciation most people into tattoos regarded them with, but with almost scientific interest, as if she was deciphering a code. With her brow creased in concentration, she leaned closer and traced a finger over his skin. Rhys immediately tensed at her touch. But Feyre didn’t even seem to realize she was doing to him, caressing his bare skin like this.

And then she gasped.

“Those are Illyrian tattoos!” she exclaimed, staring at them in disbelief.

“How do you know?” Rhys sounded astonished. Feyre kept tracing the patterns, staring at them in wonder.

“Tribal arts is my specialization.” She finally looked up and gave him an excited smile. “My minor is cultural anthropology, so I specialize in religious arts, with focus on Prythian’s native tribes. That’s one of the reasons I chose Velaris U. I got admitted for a few grad-programs actually, but I came here, because there are so many indigenous tribes living in this part of the country and there is this professor here, who is really famous in the field of tribal arts.”

Rhys tried really hard to contain his excitement at her revelation. His mother’s people believed in soulmates, two souls that were meant to each other and could only be whole together. While he never exactly believed this, he did mean what he said to Feyre yesterday about the ancient humans and their quest for their other half. The more he learned about her, the more Rhys was convinced that Feyre was his other half, his soulmate, or whatever else you wanted to call it. This was fate, she was his, she belonged with him. He was sure of it. And he was determined to make her see it, too.

Feyre didn’t notice the shift in his mood and laughed softly, continuing with her story.

“He’s actually got a fascination with tattoos, so that’s what most of his lectures are about. He has this wicked tattoo on half of his face and neck. Probably further down too, though it didn’t seem polite to ask. But I think his tattoo is Fae, not Illyrian.”

She fixed her eyes back on his tattoos, shamelessly nudging his hand to make him reveal more of them. Rhys followed suit, exposing more of his skin for her hungry fingers, although the way she kept stroking and caressing his chest was starting to make him really quite nervous. And excited. His heart rate picked up a notch.

“Do you mean Professor Whitethorn?” Rhys asked, trying hard to keep his voice from trembling, Feyre’s head snapped back up.

“You know him?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“I know his wife. Aelin. We’re loosely acquainted, she is as much of a history nerd as I am, but she’s doing her PhD in political science. That woman will probably end up being president in a few years.”

He shook his head, smiling while he remembered the last time he’d met Aelin.

They’d gotten into a fight about some historic date or some other unimportant detail. They both refused to admit they could be wrong about it, so they engaged in a lengthy discussion that turned more and more heated. By the end, Aelin was seconds away from ripping Rhys head off – literally – when her eldest son came into the living room and informed his mother that the baby was crying. His glower had been impressive for a 5-year-old. As was Aelin’s ability to turn off her flames and transform into a loving, cooing mother in an instant.

“She’s terrifying. And a menace.” Rhys said, chuckling softly. “Anyways, I talked to Professor Whitethorn on a few occasions, mostly about tattoos. He told me, he tattooed Aelin’s back with only traditional tools, imitating the original process.”

Feyre squinted her eyes at him. “I didn’t know that. I hope he took a video.”

She trained her eyes back on his chest, tracing a little whorl at the base of his shoulder. Rhys swallowed. Her touch was getting dangerous.

“How come you have Illyrian tattoos?” she asked.

“My mother was Illyrian. I got them mostly for her, though I had to complete the Blood Rite, an initiation ritual, first, before I was allowed to get them.”

“What was it?” Feyre stopped her inspection to face him, presenting her face to him. She had inched closer and closer while inspecting his tattoos, so she was within kissing distance. Rhys merely had to lean down and he could capture her lips with his.

“You are led into the woods with nothing but a knife and have to make your way back to the camp,” he hurried to say. “It usually takes place around the time you turn 18, so for me it was in winter. I guess they took pity on me, because I was only 3 days away from the camp.”

“And then you were allowed the tattoos?”

He nodded. “Took a few days. They inked them the traditional way, with a wooden needle and hammer.”

Feyre stared at his chest again, lost in thought. Her touch was getting bolder, making him go still in an effort not to pounce on her. By now, his heart was beating rapidly and Rhys was sure she noticed, especially when she suddenly put her flat hand onto his chest. Rhys swallowed in preparation of what was to come.

Feyre raised her head again and took him in. Whatever she saw in his face, it made her hand slide up and around his neck, settling at the back of it.

And then she was kissing him, and Cauldron, it was every bit as good and better as it had been last night.

A groan escaped him before he could reign it in and Rhys grabbed Feyre by her waist, tugging her closer until she sat in his lap. He plunged one hand into her hair, cradling her head as they kissed. He had wanted to do this since he had first seen her, wondering about how it might feel. _It feels like heaven_ , he thought, before Feyre’s greedy lips and tongue erased this and every other thought in his head.

Her kisses were fervent, almost desperate, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to strip her naked and take her right there and then. _Mother above_ , what that woman did to him!

Rhys slowly reclined back onto the couch and pulled her with him, so she was lying on top. Feyre pressed the whole length of her body against his, her full breasts flattening against his chest, her hips settling dangerously snug against the already growing bulge in his pants. He couldn’t help it – he groaned. The way her body felt on his was just too much.

Feyre’s hair fell around them like a veil, the caramel-gold tresses tickling his face and neck. Rhys combed through it with his fingers, brushing it away from her face and marveling at the softness. She was soft all over. Her lips and skin were impossibly soft, as was her luscious body.

Rolling them over, so he was lying half on top of her, Rhys let his lips wander, exploring her velvet smooth skin that heated under the touch of his lips. He kissed along her cheek and jaw, working his way up to her ear, where he nibbled on her earlobe, before he took his time worshipping her long, slender neck. He had been tempted to do this for a while now, especially yesterday, when she had worn her hair up.

Feyre was writhing and breathing hard while he kissed her, her pulse underneath his lips beating frantically. Rhys slowly and dedicatedly worked his way down towards where her neck and shoulder met, before switching sides and working his way up again at the other side of her neck. He wouldn’t mind doing this forever.

But then Feyre suddenly retaliated, pressing her face into his own neck and sucking at it. Rhys went still and moaned. _Cauldron_ , that felt good.

“Feyre,” he groaned, when she bit him softly, the sensation of her sharp, little teeth on his neck causing his cock to twitch. His hips snapped into her on their own accord. For a moment, Rhys was afraid Feyre could feel his erection and be put off, but then she started grinding her hips against it in a slow, seductive rhythm, and he was gone.

“Fuck, Feyre,” he swore, laughing a breathy laugh against her neck.

The way she rubbed against him… If she didn’t stop soon, there would be no accounting to what he would do.

“We can arrange that,” she said, her voice sultry and seductive.

_Did she really just say that?_

Rhys raised his head to meet her unwavering gaze piercing him, her eyes simmering with lust and desire. Something wild and animalistic roared in his chest, answering to her, and Rhys crushed his lips to hers, pressing closer.

He felt the need to claim her, claim her body. Rhys wanted her. And he desperately wanted to get off. This woman had tortured him in his dreams all night and now she did in real life, too.

Feyre parted her legs and guided him with her thighs, so Ryhs could settle between them. He hesitated for a moment, but when she ripped her lips from his and moved to his neck again, grazing her teeth over his skin, his restraint snapped and be pressed his erection against her core, making her gasp.

 _Shit, that feels so good_ , Rhys thought and started grinding against her in a slow, steady rhythm. Feyre clutched at his back, first over his shirt, then underneath it, urging him on. Rhys gripped her by her rear and lifted her a bit, alternating the angle so he could fit more snuggly between her legs. When he pressed into her this time, she threw her head back with a little gasp, her eyelids fluttering close. Rhys rocked into her again and her breath hitched in her throat. A delightful, little shiver ran down his spine. He had no trouble imagining what she would look like during sex.

With her head thrown back and her throat bared before him, Rhys started kissing his way down her neck towards her spectacular cleavage, peppering small, nipping kisses to where the tops of her breasts were not covered by the cloth of her shirt. She was driving him mad with all those low-cut shirts she kept showing up in.

Encouraged by her own roaming of his back, Rhys slipped one hand under her shirt, brushing it over her stomach and sides. Her skin felt warm and velvety under his touch, and Feyre seemed to like him touching her immensely, seeing how she shivered under his touch and pressed into him.

And the noises she made – Mother – they drove him wild. Rhys was determined to remember the exact pitch and nuance of every moan that escaped her sinful mouth, so he could replay them in his head over and over again during a lonely hour.

Slowly, he inched his way higher under her shirt, until his hand cupped one breast. He ran a finger along the edge of her bra cup, probing, waiting; but Feyre didn’t indicate that she didn’t want him there. If anything, she gave him the distinct impression that she wanted him to probe further. So Rhys slipped a finger underneath the stiff fabric of her bra cup and stroked the soft skin there before dipping down further and lightly brushing over her nipple. It was already stiff and erected.

Feyre let out a whimper and Rhys smiled against her skin. He loved how her body reacted to him, how clearly she showed him that he turned her on.

He was contemplating whether he could dare to pull down her shirt and suck on her nipple, when she moaned his name. “Rhys.”

 _Cauldron_ , he needed her to do it again.

But then she said, ”Please stop.”

Rhys stiffened and pulled away slightly, searching her face. She didn’t look panicked or frightened, if fact, she looked like she was thoroughly enjoying herself: her eyes were still closed and head thrown back, a pretty flush on her cheeks. Rhys was confused.

Feyre opened her eyes and looked at him. She still didn’t look remotely panicked or anything, but she firmly put a hand on his chest, indicating for him to move away from her. Rhys followed suit immediately, even though he felt a stab of disappointment and hurt.

“Sorry, I just… I just need a moment,” she said, and Rhys nodded, although he didn’t really get it.

Maybe she panicked, because she felt out of control, like yesterday? But she had been in control all along. He hadn’t touched her without making sure she wanted him to.

Rhys didn’t dare move, instead he carefully observed how Feyre put a hand over her heart, close to where his own hand had just been, and took some calming breaths with her eyes closed. At least, she didn’t seem to perceive him as a threat, seeing that she was closing her eyes and leaving her guard completely open towards him. _Was something wrong with her body? Did she have a health affliction, like a heart problem or something?_

Rhys was getting seriously worried. “Feyre, are you alright?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, giving him a little smile.

“I’m good. Wow, that got wild pretty quickly.”

Rhys attempted to give her a smirk, but it felt off. The whole situation felt off. And Feyre felt it, too, because her own smile slipped and her face took on a sad and distraught look. He could tell she was fumbling for words, taking deep breaths as if to start talking, only to have the words falter her. Desperately, she lunged for her water.

He didn’t want to bring her into this situation. Well, if he thought about it _she_ had been the one starting this, kissing him, grinding against him, but he still somehow felt it was his fault, that he had been too greedy.

“I’m sorry if I took it too far,” he said for the sake of saying something. He couldn't stand the silence any longer.

“No! Cauldron, no! There’s nothing you have to apologize for! It is me. I – “

Feyre closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

“I really want to sleep with you!”

“Oh!”

Rhys knew he should be elated by that admission, but he still mostly felt confused. If she wanted to sleep with him, why push him away?

“But then why –“

“I’m also very afraid of sleeping with you.” she blurted out, interrupting him.

Rhys blinked like an owl. He was more confused than ever. “Why?”

Feyre brushed a strand of her behind her ear and averted her gaze.

“I really like you and I’m afraid that if we sleep together right now, we’ll probably fuck up whatever this is between us. Because I’m really scared about my feelings and about how we are already advancing at lightning speed and because sex is kind of like my coping mechanism but I don’t want it to be like that with you, but also, I just really want to sleep with you, because you really turn me on.”

The words just came rushing out of her, but Rhys hadn't really heard them anyways. _I really like you._ She liked him. Enough to be afraid to ruin what they had with casual sex. Rhys felt dizzy. This was a dream. It couldn’t be real.

“But then I’m scared we’ll start this relationship purely on a sexual compatibility and then after a few months I’ll get bored of sleeping with you and then find there is nothing but the sex, so I’d rather get to know you first and – “

Rhys cut off her rambling by softly cupping her face with both of his hands. He stared into the blue-grey pools that were her eyes, losing himself in them.

“You like me?” he asked softly. Feyre blushed a furious red. Her cheeks grew hot enough for him to feel the rise in temperature under his hands. _My adorable, little fairy_ , he thought.

“Ah, yeah. Yeah I think so.”

“And you are afraid of fucking it up by… fucking.”

Rhys tried to keep his face neutral. Really, she was too adorable. He knew this was a serious situation and that she had told him like this at all, when she normally wouldn’t, already was a huge step in their relationship. But to think she desperately tried to keep herself from sleeping with him, but couldn’t, was just too funny. And he felt horribly smug she didn’t seem to be able to keep her hands of him.

Rhys felt a smile tug at his lips and Feyre saw it, because she gave him a pout. His lips twitched harder.

“Then we just take it slow,” he declared, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. Safer territory than her mouth. He just couldn’t resist touching and kissing her. “Because I really like you, too. Let’s try not to fuck it up by fu – “

“Don’t you dare say that again!” Feyre glowered. Rhys clamped his lips shut, still trying not to laugh.

“There is just one problem with taking it slow,” Feyre remarked worriedly. Rhys raised an eyebrow in question.

“I have absolutely no self-control when it comes to you,” she whispered, dead-serious.

Rhys finally broke. He threw his head back and barked in laughter, pulling her into a bear hug. _Cauldron, this woman!_

“Then I’ll just have to have enough self-control for the both of us,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

Feyre buried her face against his shoulder and snuggled into his arms. And somehow, with Feyre in his arms, even clothed and horny as hell, Rhys had the strange feeling that he was complete.

☽✴☾

Rhys stifled his moan as his release barreled through him and leaned his head against the cool bathroom tiles, while he squeezed out the last of his cum. He flushed and watched his white, milky semen swirl and vanish in the toilet.

 _Twice_. He'd jerked himself off thinking about Feyre Archeron twice now in one day, not counting his wet dream.

The only difference this time was that she was currently sitting in his living room, probably well aware about why he had excused himself to the bathroom after they'd stopped making out. Rhys thought about the way she had looked at him when he had excused himself, a smile on those kiss-swollen lips and the hungry look she had given him, still unable to fully control her sex drive.

 _I want to sleep with you_.

Had anyone ever told him that this blatantly to his face? Rhys chuckled. No, of course not. But that was one of the reasons he was so taken with her.

Feyre wasn't ashamed to acknowledge that she had sexual needs and that she wanted him to take care of them. There would be no embarrassed hints, shy glances or demands to switch off the light when he’d take this one to bed. On the contrary, Rhys had the feeling that Feyre would tell him exactly where and what she wanted from him.

Like earlier, when she had guided him between her legs, urging him to dry-hump her and -

_Fuck._

Rhys desperately tried to think about something, anything else so he could chase away the image of Feyre squirming underneath him on the couch, making all those sexy noises while he ground against her. He didn't want to have to jerk off again, but he would have to, if he continued thinking about her like this.

With a humorless laugh, Rhys carefully wiped himself off and tucked his member away. He had a feeling that they'd see each other again later today.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Dear all,
> 
> with Christmas approaching, I decided you all needed another little gift!  
> Thank you for reading to burn like tinder, I'm insanely happy you seem to like it. 
> 
> I will continue uploading little chapters like these with Rhys' POV, alhough I probably won't be uploading them regularly like the main fic (gotta avoid spoilers ;) )
> 
> Happy holidays!


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